


Just A Kid

by teenieweenie365



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Disappointment, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No One Is Okay, Psychological Torture, Schizophrenia, Torture, Touch-Starved, Trauma, help me :), peters not okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenieweenie365/pseuds/teenieweenie365
Summary: For 1 year, two months, and 12 days (30,886 minutes, 37,939,613 seconds, and uncountable amounts of used coffee cups), Peter Parker was missing.And well, dead or alive, everyone is found eventually.





	1. I

* * *

 

* * *

 

The look in the boy’s eyes made Steve’s skin crawl. It wasn’t because of how soulless they looked, or white hot flame of hate they seemed to lightly glow with. It was the disgusted recognition. The knowing sneer on his face when Steve stepped out of the dark in the room, angry and frustrated, fighting. It made his stomach feel like lead in his body, throat already tight with formulating anxiety.

“Kid,” He started, strong hands outstretched feebly.

“Put the _gun_ down”

The nagging thought he couldn’t be older than 18 veered in the back of his mind, though he could obviously see the innocence gone from the child in front of him.

Peters grip on the gun strengthened, he should pull the trigger. He was told to pull the trigger. So, what was he waiting for, he was trained for this. His eyes wavered and bit back a choke, and oh _god_ he felt so nauseous, because no matter how he tried to pretend, it was so much different than shooting the eyeless test dummies. He couldn’t kill a person. A friend. He used to be a friend. _Somewhere different. Not here, not now._

A window behind him shattered and he immediately jerking his body around at the source. But when he realized that it was just a piece of rubble, it was too late.

He yelled.

 Steve immediately grabbed the gun, knocking the butt of it into the skull of the teen, making him crash to the floor in unconsciousness.

His face was fixed in a concrete frown, he knew he didn’t hurt the boy too much, just _enough_ , at least that’s what he would try to believe. But guilt didn’t stop the disgust he felt when he looked at the kid’s H.Y.D.R.A uniform, the grating red symbol staring back at him from the granite floor. He grabbed him by the stomach, briskly laying him over his shoulder and beginning to walk out of the facility. He was S.H.I.E.L.D's problem now. Course that didn’t really help ease the knot in his chest. S.H.I.E.L.D was shady, testable at best. The back of Steve’s mind thought of the worse, vaguely debating if pretending he never saw the teen would be any good.

 He shot that idea down almost immediately.

Once outside, he surveyed the area. It was hot. Too hot for his weathered uniform, and too hot for someone to be dressed in all black. But last time he checked, H.Y.D.R.A. didn’t have t-shirts as an option for their dress apparel.

The sun glared off the broken glass that littered the street and sidewalks.  They were here to take down a base, and that’s what they did. The brick apartment building lay cover for an underground facility with thick walls and marble floors.

He and Nat went inside the agency while the others fought against H.Y.D.R.A.’s countless agents that spilled out into the street like flooded ants. Well...Ants with guns and a spoiled agenda.

He nearly ran to the sight of the helicopter landing near him, subtly peeking into the side to see who was in it.

Soft oval eyes reflected at him.

“Hey Cap” Clint chirped, somewhat enthusiastically, the shaking right hand holding a stained rag to his arm wasn’t unnoticed.

Steve put the unconscious boy on the seat next to him, fingers grazed a compartment for a pair of blocky handcuffs and setting them tight on the capture’s wrist.

Clits face twisted into a disgruntled frown, maybe a wince if you looked closely. “Who's the...?” He started, head nodding towards the limp body. Steve twitched a shrug, ocean eyes turned glance out the cloudy and cracked window.

It was rare for him to ever really be somber after a fight, but to him, the collateral is piling up. It too much sometimes. Bodies were distorted and glass was shattered. Someone home destroyed, along with the memories that were shined there.

An image held to his brain when he looks at the sidewalk.

 A girl of six or seven laughs as she rolled along a small baby pink plastic stroller.  Suddenly, the carriage dips and a ratty doll falls to the ground. The girl cries.

He remembers the gunman he failed to stop before he gave the sidewalk a numerous amount of chips and cracks in attempts to clip his heels; his frown deepens and his eyes squinted.

Steve stepped onto the towers roof with Clint, S.H.I.E.L.D agents pushing past them both to carry the handcuffed into a cold metal elevator, not before injecting him with seemingly more sedative. Couldn’t be too sure some days. He couldn’t help following the action with a squint.

His feet moved to the stair access, automating, patience too pressed to wait for the elevator to come back up. Clint, unsurprisingly, trailed him down.

“Shield better have left some goddamn mints on my goddamn pillow after this shit.” He grumbled, feet curtly tapping to an invisible song in the small time-frame between flat square spaces and more stairs. “And not that gross Junior Mints stuff _ewe_. I want like those choco-mints you get from Olive Garden you know what I mean? _Oh yeahhhhh_.” He continued, licking his lips at the fantasy. He heard saliva being swallowed.

Steve failed to suppress a laugh and Clint’s mouth twisted up into a satisfied smile.

They both stopped at a door they both knew lead to the medbay. Steve held opened the door for him as he wobbled inside. Clint spun around on his heels as Steve was about to let go of the door.

“Ya know Cap, you should take a break, heck we all should. Let’s bribe Tony into taking us to the Bahamas _-no wait, I would burn like the white bread I am-_ or maybe somewhere remote like Greenland _-wait is that the cold one or the nice one? Goddamn sixth grade social studies A+ my ass-_ anyway you get the point.” Clint spoke, mostly with his hands and with himself.

Steve honestly didn’t give himself time to consider it, almost immediately shaking his head.

“I think now isn’t the best time for planning vacations.”

He gestured at Clint’s arm and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Tis but a flesh wound!” Clint yelled, an exaggerated frown worked its way into his face. Steve rolled his eyes, let go of the door, and continued walking down the stairs (whines from above went ignored).

Eventually, taking more time than he wanted, he made it to his floor. He dragged like a sloth, slowly down the hall, not bothering to pick up his feet for full steps.

He collapsed on his bed with deep exhaustion, a little disappointed when his eye didn’t catch aluminum wrapped candy on his pillow.

* * *

 

 

_{ ".... I want like those choco-mints you get from Olive Garden you know what I mean? Oh yeahhhhh.”}_

_{...A girl of six or seven laughs as she rolled along a small baby pink plastic stroller.  Suddenly, the carriage dips and a ratty doll falls to the ground. The girl cries.}_

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L I N K F O R P I C T U R E S:  
> https://kanyekashisthebest.wixsite.com/ijustneedthiswebsite


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everything Peter sees is real, so be weary of that. He's very traumatized and conscious of how he should handle himself in this situation.  
> His way of thinking is scattered and odd..  
> With that being said, I welcome chapter 2!  
> 

* * *

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up handcuffed to a pipe on a table, neck stinging from laying at an awkward angle. Hands twisted anxiously, as he scanned the room. He carefully noted a camera in the left corner of the room, and shook against his shackles, he felt too weak to break them. He knew that H.Y.D.R.A would be here soon, disguised as a S.H.E.I.L.D agent most likely. He would have to wait it out.

 Peter let out a puff of air that he didn’t even know he was holding, and chip in the side of his neck pulsed inaudibly.  

 

The door creaked open and two men stepped in. One was short, the other tall, both of their faces were blurred to him, eyes and mouths smudged into their skin. He looked away.

“Do you know where you are?” The short one asked. When Peter kept his eyes on the wall, the taller sighed. “How old are you?” The short man continued, his voice soft, pity. And again, the tall man let out an indecipherable grunt of annoyance. “What is your name?” He began again.

He should just tell them, tell them everything. But what would he do then? He had nothing anymore, no one, anymore.

He faced them, and his ribs twisted with a paralyzing guilt, a killing emptiness. He tried, he really did try to do good. But they didn’t know that, they didn’t understand what he did. How hard it was to resist. They’d never understand anything but that he was the enemy. Evil sex leads to evil spawn leads to evil casket, dead flowers and no priest. They wouldn’t understand.

They still looked deformed to him, but he knew that wasn’t real. Some things he saw were too bizarre to be real, either that, or the world was just a bizarre place, which was true in some ways. After all, aliens were real, superheroes were real, who was he to say that some things couldn’t happen.

 He stared for little bit, watching their eyes shift and blink, noses travel from the left and right side of their faces. Both had grey eyes, and he deducted, as they wondered across their pale skin, that it was a very nice hue.

“Do you understand anything I am saying?” The calmer one asked, rubbing his morphed face with small hands. Peter parted his dry lip to speak the only words he could say without thinking.

“ ** _Hail Hydra_** ”

The angrier one sat down at the chair across from him, slamming his fist on the table. “You think this is some sort of _game_? We aren’t here to play, kid, so stop with the martyr complex **bullshit** you fuckers all have, and answer our goddamn questions.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke and Peter wanted to cringe at the sound. He could jump up and bite out his throat right now. He should, they would want him to, H.Y.D.R.A would want him to. His clothes would get dirty, so so dirty. How much did dry cleaning cost? But his breath shuddered, and the idea was lost in the internal earthquake.

Peter shook his head, this was his only chance, and he was wasting it. He gave up trying to escape H.Y.D.R.A a long time ago. It got so draining, burning him out to try anymore. So, he gave in, letting them ram false information in his head, and he accepted it with a nod and a thank you. It hurt to hope anymore.

He was pathetic.

 

Someone trudged towards him, but he couldn’t hear the footsteps. He felt the wind they moved. They leaned down to his ear, but he couldn’t feel his breaths. But Peter felt the death radiating from the skin, the stench of copper dust and dry dirt. Heard the hammering heartbeat vibrating his skull.

 _“We know who you are Peter, Spider-Man.”_  

He shook his head, he couldn’t do this again. He was so sick of hearing this.

_“We know where you live. About your family. About your parents, your uncle.”_

His head was in his hands now. He trembled.

_“We know about your abilities.”_

They didn’t know. No one knew. It was an accident.

_“We all know you killed your uncle, Peter.”_

He slammed his head onto the table. **_~~"You don't know what you're talking about"~~_**

“HEY! Stop that!”

Peter opened the eyes he didn’t even realize were closed. The short man was looking at him in bewilderment, out of breath, and the tall man was standing in a corner, watching him with wide eyes. They looked normal. Peter couldn’t recall the taller ever getting up from his seat. He felt a sting on his forehead. Blood was stained on the table. How did that get there?

The door was shoved open, and they all jumped. A bigger man walked through. Peter knew it was Fury, one, because of the eye-patch, and two, the coat. Who even wore a coat that long anymore? It looked like a goddamn cape. _Try not to trip on it batman._

“Get the hell outta here! Both of you!” He snarled, sweat clinging on his face. The two nodded hastily and walked out of the room, stares exchanged between them.

Fury looked at Peter and glanced at the blood on the table. “Whatever the dumbass method those two were using obviously didn’t work. So, I'm just going to be straight with you.” He signed, and a file was opened, pictures where spread. “…13 Shield agents have been taken. All of them while in their own home, off duty. I firmly believe that Hydra is behind this.” He concluded, speaking with a slowness that he tried to comprehend. Peters cuffed hands ghosted over the pictures. “We have no idea why they were taken or where they are being held.” He paused. “Look, I don’t know what they did to you, but these people had family, children, who don’t know where they are.”.

 Peter spoke, praying that he would be interrupted by the sound of gunshots, screams…  Anything.

“I…I…D-Don’t kn-know where they are. I-I-I-I don’t…”. His voice was barely above a whisper, scratchy. But Fury looked pleased, his back straightened. A moment of silence passed through them both.

“Did Hydra take your parents? Your family?” Fury’s voice was low, echoed in the room bare room. The walls breathed with Peters shallow lungs, moving in and out in the corner of his eye. He felt like he was suffocating. Was he really going to do this? Throw everything away? What was the point of fighting it in the first place if he was just going to give up now. These people knew **nothing** about him! They didn’t know what they were talking about, these mannequin people. They were just fakes, horse haired, too shiny to be real. Fluorescents surely didn’t look that bright on **real** skin. His eyebrows furrowed and he wanted to laugh. He felt so cold.

“…Oh… _Oh_. I get it I get this-this is some sort of test right. I-I-I Im gonna wake up and I’m gonna fail. You know- _You_ -You know that you almost-almost had me-I-you guys are getting _reeeeeeal_ clever w-w-w-with-with technology and dr-drugs and I know this isn’t real and I’m just gonna get-get punished because I didn’t k-kill that- **him** -America-Captain America-guy. I-I’ve seen this thing before in The Ma-Ma-Matrix or-or-or Inception or- “.

A hand rested on his shoulder. And he snapped back, almost barreling out of his bolted down seat, he would’ve took the table with him. The hand removed itself. “I can get you help, protection, make sure they aren’t going come for you anymore.” The tone was quieter this time, didn’t echo. “But you need to give us information.”.

Peter’s skin felt drawn out, seared.   _Jesus christ_ his life was a mess; this entire day was a mess. And in his heart, he knew that as soon as H.Y.D.R.A. found him, he would be killed, regardless of his powers. But he would die helping innocents, and that’s what he wanted in the first place. Right?

* * *

 

_{...Hands twisted anxiously, as he scanned the room. He carefully noted a camera in the left corner of the room, and shook against his shackles, he felt too weak to break them}_

_{...He should just tell them, tell them everything. But what would he do then? He had nothing anymore, no one, anymore.}_

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments push me to continue, so please leave one for moi kiddos! Hope you enjoyed this! Next chapter will be uploaded next Saturday! ;)  
> L I N K F O R P I C T U R E S:  
> https://kanyekashisthebest.wixsite.com/ijustneedthiswebsite


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information is exchanged. Peter's probably catching a cold.

* * *

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t a therapist. Not even close. But with the amount of times he recently was asked to speak, he sure felt like it. He was a scientist, not a psychologist. So, he sighed, thought distantly about how the others were probably watching a movie without him. Bruce didn’t mind, not really.

He rode an elevator down in silence, mostly because he was stand side to someone he didn’t know, but partly because his throat was too sore to waste on starting small talk.

The door opened, and the person stepped out. He waited, and stepped out on one more floor below, walking his memorized pathway to the glass and cement prisons. The last time he was in here was a week ago, another stiff agent, and his hopes of a successful interrogation dwindled day to day. This time however, he was told, was different. The ‘kid'in fact by himself, was _“different “._ He has yet to decipher if that was an entirely good thing or not.

He opened a door with several slides of his ID and glances at the guards. And the first thing he saw, was that the ‘ _kid_ ’, was not a kid. He was imagining, as wild as it sounded, a 5 year old. He hummed. _A toddler with a gun_ , only in America.

From his position somewhat far, he squinted at the bundle of cells. He was a minor, thin, easily 15 or 16. Mousy brown hair and wide doe eyes kept his age questionable. His attire consisted of a grey jumpsuit and a bandage wrapped head, which, from watching the footage of the interrogation, _he knew why._ And with a shower of steps foward, he noticed a narrow cotton candy pink scar on his cheek. He sleeves were rolled down.

 As a H.Y.D.R.A. agent, he was better off than most. Let off too easily, rare it happens now a days. Usually, after an interrogation, if a possibility that they might give something (if not, jail), they were talked too again (and if that didn’t work, he got sent down as a last chance for them to say something, which happened way too often for his own liking).

Bruce dragged a metal chair to the form of the glass wall, a chalkboard sound, and the souls of his shoes pressed hard on the floor.

The teenager was reading something, it was small, paper back. So, he cleared his throat, pen tapping in his hand.

“What are you reading?” He ignited, voice scratchy, he had to begin omewhere.

Peter jumped, eyes scattered around before finding the source of sound. He wiped his red rimmed eyes, gripping the poorly stapled pages harder. Winter soldiers marched in his stomach, leaving an unsettled feeling and chilly wet footprints.

“I-I found it-on-u-under…Taped…” He trailed off for a little before continuing. A tremored breath was taken and he didn’t know if it was from himself, or from the marching men in him. “In-Instructions. For. The-The-The bed...”. His actions betrayed him recently, it was easier to gloss gently over words and conversations when he opened his mouth. He was reading a building manual.

Banner’s mouth twisted into something indecipherable. He himself felt a smile, but the child saw dipped teeth and gums.  

“Do you like to read?”. His voice was quizzical, amused on the clean ceramic. Still, stayed professional, edged on the earthworm covered underbelly. Peter swore heard this tone-voice-person, somewhere else. He squinted and read the man’s ID tag.

‘Dr. Bruce Banner.’

  He saw green and felt vexed.

“…S-Sure? I-I-I-What? W-What do you guys want? Shouldn’t I be in jail-or-kill-killed or something? You-You people-guys-don’t even know my- **MY** -my name, I can’t h-help…”

The word 'you' was unspoken, but understood.

Bruce’s legs shifted, his socks felt disgusting, soaked against his heels. He stepped in a puddle earlier that day; Another movement was provoked.

“Then let's start at the beginning. What’s your name?”. The notepad rested still in his hands, a small tree anchor.

The younger hesitated, but spoke.

“…It w-was-is Peter.”

A breath interrupted.

“-Parker-Peter-Parker.”

The word _‘Spider-Man'_ lay laced the edge of his lips. The words _‘there is something in my neck'_ and _‘Hydra is going to come for me’'_ , also rested there. All of them were tucked away and buried with a basket of blinks.

The play pretend psychiatrist exhaled a smile, while his hand wrote what learned. Peter rewarded him a toothy grimace, and he enjoyed it, because at least he was getting somewhere.

“Peter, how old are you?”  He asked. These questions were asked before, unanswered, sure, but asked before. The realization of the repetitions made Peters eye twitch restlessly.

He mumbled wordlessly to himself. How old _was_ he? When did he last hear the words ‘happy birthday’? Have cake?  He stood still.

 No... He was with _her_ , he was sure of it. It was angel cake. His heart throbbed, but he remembered.

“Sixteen.”

A remorseful frown and another chicken scratch on the paper.

“And Peter… _How did you kill your Aunt May?”_

He stopped breathing, sputtering back, his eyes ran miles on the walls.

“W-W-W-W”

 The word wouldn’t form

Bruce looked at him, pen at rest, sword retracted from the paper.

“I asked you, ‘how was your day’”.

Peter ground his teeth, nodding slowly, thoughts too jumbled to realize that is wasn’t that type of question.  Banner wrote down his limited response despite it. A sigh slipped, and he silently thought that he should get back to the point. The notepad was dropped beside him, hands becoming intertwined in a knot of digits.

(The statue in the garden was teetered by the wind.)

“Peter.”, the word was God near sang, “Are your parents with Hydra?”

“Yes, or no.” He added hastily, simplifying it.

Peter tugged at his hair sluggishly. At least he didn’t have to think about this question. He shook his head.

The interrogator’s nose scrunched, and the interrogated bit the inside of his cheek.

(The statue tipped some more.)

“…Do you have them? Parents?”

Both tapped their feet, nervous. They didn’t comment on it.

“ _No._ ”

 

Peter expected a _‘I’m sorry’_ or a _‘you poor thing’’_ to be said _,_ but it never came.  Instead, another switch of Banners crossed legs, he did the same, paranoid. Peter wanted to yell at him. They made each other anxious.

Peter coughed again and rubbed a smudge of inflamed skin. The chip was so loud to him, a metallic scream under layers of soft muscle. His hand moved up to the side of neck and he scratched it absently.

(The statue fell. Moss layered its feet, instead of expected dirt. Peter wanted to push it back up again.)

 “You joined Hydra out of your free will.” Bruce breathed, but it sounded like a statement, not a question. And so, it went intentionally ignored.

Cough, cough, cough. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

He rephrased.

“I mean, did you want to join Hydra?”.

_“Did you want to be a killer?”_

_“Did you want to be tested on?”_

His memory was full of holes, so how could he know anything was how it really happened. Sometimes, he likes to think the doctors and scientists messed up. That they accidentally fucked up his head. He could wish.

“I…”.

Would he defend them?

“...N-No…”.

He would not.

_He was walking home when it happened. He should’ve used his bike that day. But he didn’t. A stranger had waived him over. Why did he go to him? Because he thought that whatever happened, he could handle it. The idiot was indeed an ignorant._

Did he even have a bike?

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce’s voice was wavy like the sea, who didn’t like an ocean voice? Peter did, he despised the water that was too cloudy to see below it.

The door opened, and Peter trembled.

* * *

 

 

_{...So, he sighed, thought distantly about how the others were probably watching a movie without him. Bruce didn’t mind, not really.}_

_{ ...“Then let's start at the beginning. What’s your name?”. The notepad rested still in his hands, a small tree anchor.}_

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! {also if the goddamn pictures are working} (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ Until next time my space cadets!
> 
> {The best way, to feel freezing soldiers dancing in your stomach, is to drink hot coco before you go to bed on a warm soft summer day.}  
> L I N K F O R P I C T U R E S:   
> https://kanyekashisthebest.wixsite.com/ijustneedthiswebsite


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watched some lesbian porn and read a bad Office fanfic, birthed this

* * *

 

* * *

 

For 1 year, two months, and 12 days (30,886 minutes, 37,939,613 seconds, and uncountable amounts of used coffee cups), Peter Parker was missing. And more importantly, Spider-Man.

But everyone was silent.

And maybe that’s what made Peter give up, everyone around him letting him down. It certainly didn’t help. Certainly not.

Surely _someone_ was looking for him. Certainly so? Certainly no! That’s what he affirmed, the idea he enjoyed to toy with (a plausible idea to him at that).

But that wasn’t the truth, the sane reality. Because people just don’t disappear. Everyone watches everyone. And when you think you’re alone, doing something you shouldn’t do, seeing something you shouldn’t see, _someone’s bound to be looking._ So, in conclusion, his strawberry sober fantasy did not support the hypothesis.

 Because when a hand selected intern for a multibillion-dollar company just happens to vanish off the face of New York, _someone notices._

And that brings us circle to the current predicament.

 

Tony's fingernails were a mess, chipped with stars from the slips of mechanical men.  His rather disconcerting habit of constant knawing on hem had (thankfully) ceased, though the urge lingered quite thickly. His hands felt numb, gripping a navy duffle bag tightly.

To tell someone that Tony wasn’t a factor in Peter’s disappearance, was a lie, simple as that. And he knew that.

And that’s what made him step into the bleach stained elevator. Guilt, or an opportunity for a conclusion to it? The crowded world will never know.

His eyes flicked to the descended lights, yellow and white sprites waving him down in a golden choir.

Soft bells silently hum as he steps out and set the bag on the floor before continuing forward. Hs broad hands shoved every cold door in front of him. The glares from ignored guards made a smile tug on his chapped and busted lips.

He didn’t really guess Banner would to beat him to it. Well, he was not surprised, but it was still unexpected.

Bruce jumped up and Peter whipped his head around. Tony glanced at the two of them haphazardly.

“Tony _?_ What? What are you doing here?” The doctor spoke, face scrunched into wrinkles.

Bruce was confused, and Peter was visibly startled.

Peter’s lull of “...Holy shit” was said to himself.

He strained to see the man and doctor whispering, knowing that it had to be about him. They were probably talking about killing him. Peter shook his head to deter the notion, but it remained. He would hang himself before he let some stranger, some animal slaughter him first.

He cleared his throat loudly before taking a second to part his lip. They felt glued together, catching skin when he moved them.

“He…Hey... C-Can som-somone like TELL me what’s going on? Or-Or-“

Tony turned around and look Peter up and down, which Peter did not appreciate. He already felt enough like a zoo attraction in there.

“Yeah Peter, you’re going home.”. Tony glared at Bruce, and Peter could tell that bickering was going to start. A strangled sigh escaped the doctor, white tipped knuckles gripped his clipboard. “No, _Peter_ , we still have _a lot_ of things to ask you. So, **no** , you’re going home yet.”. Peter heard Banner's pearly whites ground and scraped each other, his heart panged for the guy’s molars.

“Banner…” Tony haggled. “STARK!” Bruce yelled, exasperated. He looked like he wanted to hit him, cheeks steamed and puffy as his hands ran across his forehead. Bruce took a sharp breath in and, “J-Just do whatever you want.”, was released on his exhale, voice tremored. Peter has sworn he has never seen someone leave a room with such haste.

 _Peter feels the heat of a fire on his fingertips, his first one. Everything around him gooey and smoldering, smog made his lungs vibrate with a burning intensity.  He went in too late, the condo seemed to sway as its structure shifted.  He sees the 9 people in front of him, crammed in the doorway, pushing and shoving each other like branded pigs. Something caught his eye from above, he remembered running, then gagging. The residue of someone who tried to jump from the window to get out blurred in his mind, a censor for what was face down on the sidewalk_ , face down S.H.E.I.L.D.’s metal rimmed bed. 3 seconds that’s the fastest he’s ever seen someone leave somewhere. Understandably he guesses.

A flinch was served by the door behind him bulleting open.

“Alright kiddo, let’s go.”.

Peter squinted, eyes searching for the opalescent gleam, a shadow of colors that tinged everything he saw.

Tony curled his digits to his palm and Peter followed him out the door. What else was he supposed to do?

Tony’s hands rested on the Peters lean shoulders and guided him. A twitched jerked his thumb to shove him off, but he let himself be shoved forward through doors on seeing the scattered looks the agents gave him. For a horrifying moment, he thought he recognized some of them. He let himself be pushed faster.

It felt like hours before they reached the elevator. Tony’s finger pressed the call button with an odd enthusiasm, grabbing the duffle set to the side of the hallway.

The box came, and they both piled inside, thick white noise immediately stuffing Peters ears, a stream of hot breaths hammering on his senses.

“Friday.”

A pale glow shown through his suit jacket, a warm honey shade of orange.

“ _On it sir._ ” It replied.

Peters eyes dared around the four corners, eyes landing on camera in the left of the cramped space, he felt it stare back at him.  

“Hey,” Tony started, voice fuzzy. He handed him the bag. “We have about 62 seconds before we reach the penthouse, change.”

Peter opened it after a beat, the sheen of the metal zip reflected blobs of his pallid skin and grey clothing.

A very flashy graphic T-shirt inside was crammed sideways, crumpled and next to pair of bleached out jeans.  He took both in one hand and unzipped his jumper in the other. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he realized he should feel some pinch of embarrassment or shame, or just, anything at all about the situation, but he didn’t, so who cares.

Upon seeing him start to undress Tony averted his eyes to the marble on the right side of the elevator, nearest to the door from where he was, trying to give him as much privacy as possible, which granted was not a possibility at moment, but he wanted to make an effort.

Much to Tony’s surprise Peter was changed quickly.

And was now staring at Tony.

“Take a picture kid.” He chuckled out, trying for lighthearted.

“ _38 seconds._ ”

Peters laugh was more of a bark when it echoed back to him from the walls, shell shocked that it even escaped his throat.

“You’re-uh-you’re T-Tony Stark!” It came out too loud for the compact size of the room, and caused them to both cringe alittle, but it brought a smile to Tony’s face.

“I know, I know, with the little beard and everything.”

“ _26 seconds._ ”

“…I..I think I us-sed to work for..You?” Peter hummed, allowing his shoulders to retract from their tense arch towards his back.

There was a slight pause between them, Tony’s eyes squinting, brows arched.

“Think?”

“ _Doors opening._ ”

* * *

 

 

 _{...He remembered running, then gagging. The residue of someone who tried to jump from the window to get out blurred in his mind, a censor for what was face down on the sidewalk.}_  

_{...The box came, and they both piled inside, thick white noise immediately stuffing Peters ears, a stream of hot breaths hammering on his senses.}_

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All jokes aside, I want to deeply apologize to you guys, I’m extremely sorry for this being late. Like…Really late. I’m just so grateful to see all the support this has gotten so far and I don’t think I would have continued this if it was just me, so thank you. And if you ever really want to get in touch with me, my Instagram is @salty.cereal , dm me anytime. 
> 
> L I N K F O R P I C S : {Made a timeline at the end of the site, I think its worth taking a look at if you need some more explanations.}
> 
> https://kanyekashisthebest.wixsite.com/ijustneedthiswebsite


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